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It was raining the night he left. The sky was dark and clouded over. He couldn’t even see the moon, not that it would’ve mattered. He didn’t need the light of the stars to guide him. He just needed to go.
He just needed to leave.
Quackity didn’t take too much with him the night he left. His phone, a charger, the food he stashed under the loose floorboard in the pantry. A backpack with his wallet and all the cash he could hold in his own two hands, plus whatever clothes he could take that wouldn’t be missed. His driver’s license that he’d fought tooth and nail to get, even though Jay was insistent that he’d never need it. Not while he was with him.
Quackity didn’t have a credit card; that was too dangerous. He could be tracked that way. The car had half a tank of gas in it and a shit battery that needed charging when it got too cold out, but it was enough. He turned the key in the ignition and cursed a prayer to whatever hope he still had left that it would start.
The engine took a second and then roared to life. A flash of light caught his attention and his head snapped up to the house, his breath caught in his throat. But it was just the motion detector side light flickering on as a bat flew swift past it. Jay wasn’t home tonight. He’d gone out drinking with his buddies. Quackity had been good for him for nearly a month. Jay trusted him not to run again, not after the last time.
Quackity threw the shift into gear and pulled out of the driveway, his heart pounding in his chest as he gritted his teeth against the memory of a bullet whizzing past his cheek. He had to leave. He had to get out.
He didn’t know where he was going, but frankly, it didn’t matter.
Quackity drove until the gas tank was begging him to fill it again. He pulled off at a shithole gas station, pulled up to one of three pumps, and checked the number. He locked the car as he left, not trusting any of these fucks to leave it alone, and he pushed into the convenience store. He stalked up to the clerk, slapped a twenty on the sill, and told him the number of the pump. It wouldn’t get him far, but he was still too close. He was still too close to Jay. His fingers drummed on the counter, itching to get the fuck out of there and fast, when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He fished it out and saw the notification; Jay was calling.
Quackity’s heart hammered in his chest as he stared at the screen, his breath coming fast. He should pick up. He shouldn’t. He should answer. He should end the call. He should—
“Hey—”
Quackity’s head snapped up from the vibrating phone in his hand, his eyes too wide, his breath too fast to cover it up; he felt frozen to the spot under the gaze of the clerk.
The clerk looked down at the phone, then out the window to the car, then back again to the register. “Hey,” they said as they fucked around with the register. “Look, take this back. I’ll cover it. You should turn off your phone. Don’t turn it back on until you know you’re safe. Or just throw it out the window.” They shrugged as they slid the twenty back to Quackity.
The phone went silent. Quackity knew Jay would be calling back and he’d be calling back soon. He turned off his phone, considered smashing it on the ground before pushing it into his pocket. He snatched the twenty back and muttered a quick “thanks” as he left the store. At the pump, he filled up the car until it cut off, watching the price rise until the tank was full. He breathed out a sigh of relief, then hopped back into the car, and left that shithole of town behind him.
It was still raining.
Quackity gripped the steering wheel tight enough his hands ached. The key was in the ignition and turned to the side. The lights were still on. The music droned on under the pounding of the rain. Thunder rumbled above him. It’d be foreboding if the car hadn’t already stopped on its own.
He turned the key again, growling as the lights flickered, but the engine didn’t turn over. Just clicked and clicked and clicked and stopped when he yanked out the key. The fucking car was dead. Something blew in the engine for sure. Was that what that weird noise was about three miles back?
“Fuck!” He slapped the wheel with a snarl. This was just his luck! Just his fucking luck! He imagined himself throwing open the door and lifting up the hood of the car and figuring out exactly what fucked him over, but there was just one problem with that.
There were actually many problems with that.
He didn’t know shit about cars. It was pitch black outside and pouring down rain. If he turned on his phone for the flashlight, then Jay might find him quicker. He might get hit by another car, not that he’d seen any for miles.
… wait. Hold on.
Quackity leaned back away from the steering wheel. He stared out the back window, peering through the darkness. The sky lit up in a flash of lightning, and the entirety of the inside of the car was illuminated for a brief moment. In that brief moment, Quackity categorized everything he took with him when he left. What could he carry and what could he leave behind? What could he risk getting wet and what would turn into a shock hazard in five minutes or less?
In the darkness that followed, he made a quick decision.
Quackity jabbed the button for his seatbelt, pressed flat against the seat as the belt whipped back into place. He jerked forward and twisted until his ass was slotted between the two front seats, and he grabbed his belongings. He didn’t give himself time to rethink, to reconsider his options. Besides, it was either sit here in the rain and wait for someone to take pity on him (unlikely), for Jay to find him (unacceptable), or go find help himself. He was tired of sitting around and waiting for someone else to take action. He refused to sit around and do nothing ever again.
Quackity kicked the door open and slammed it shut, a string of curses pouring out of his mouth at the shittiest car in existence. He hiked up his hood, pocketed his keys and the rest of his belongings, and made his way back down the road. He remembered seeing a fancy fucking car turn down a fancy as fuck driveway… a mile or so back? In the forest where the road twisted and rolled and he nearly slammed headfirst into that truck that refused to drop its brights as it appeared at the edge of the sharp fucking turn.
The road was slick and there wasn’t even the light of the moon to guide him. The lightning helped at least, though his nerves nearly ate him alive when a bolt struck a tree about 50 feet from him. He eyed the burning tree with apprehension and refused to take it as a sign of terrible shit to come. His life was already a non-stop tirade of terrible shit; at some point, you had to be desensitized to it or you’d get consumed by it.
Quackity pushed on through the storm, his eyes focused on the road in front of him. He didn’t really want to get hit by a car that didn’t see him until the last second. Not that he saw a lot of cars around here. Actually, he hadn’t seen any in a long fucking time. None, except for that one fancy fucking car. After nearly ten minutes of trekking, he found the turn off. It was a small opening in the trees, blocked by a dark metal gate. He nearly missed it, and wouldn’t have known about its existence if he hadn’t been looking for it. The gate itself was easy enough to climb over, though the rain made the iron slick. He lost his gripping as he tried to climb down, and fell flat on his back. He coughed and hacked, the breath knocked out of his lungs, and laid on the soaked road dazed and reeling.
At least he was already soaked through to the bone. The puddle under his back couldn’t do much worse to him. He groaned as he sat up, checking his belongings before pushing to his feet. Everything in his body ached . From the fall, from the constant buzz of stress and desperate anxiety, and from the cold, autumn downpour. Quackity shook it off and pushed on down the driveway.
At the end of the winding driveway was another gate. It was black like the last one, the fence’s swirling design briefly illuminated by the lightning above his head. He waited a moment before reaching out and tugging on the gate. It slipped open with a soft grinding noise, the bottom just high enough to sweep over the cobblestone. Leaves trailed in its wake as it opened outward and he risked a glance backwards. Nothing but the rain and the thunder and the lightning crackling high above him accompanied him as he stepped through the gate.
He closed it carefully behind him and turned towards the end of the driveway. The sky lit up in the brightest display of lightning he’d ever seen in his life, and he stared up at the house that stood grand and tall before him. It looked like it came straight out of a horror film, a haunted house that towered and pierced the sky. Gargoyles lined the edges of the roof; he caught a glimpse of them in the flashing lightning before they were plunged back into darkness. Their expressions ranged from grotesque to horrified to evil grinning monsters. Well, that was frankly terrifying.
“Alright, I’m either getting murdered here, getting killed for trespassing, or…” Quackity’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Either get murdered here, or get found by Jay.
Quackity swallowed and pushed forward.
There were lights on in the house (castle? mansion?), warm and flickering and inviting him in out of the cold and oppressive dark. He was soaked through to the bone from the heavy rain and shivering in the cold autumn air. As he climbed the steps to the door, his foot slipped out from under him and he fell on the hard stone. A sharp rock sliced through the skin of his palm, and he hissed at the pain that arched up through his spine at it. He cursed and pressed his hand to his chest, grabbing the black iron railing with his other hand and dragged himself upright. Once he was sure he was steady again, he knocked on the heavy wooden door.
His knock echoed through the building. They sounded like light, scared taps, and after waiting almost a minute with no answer, Quackity snarled. He pounded on the door, raising his voice to force the sound to travel further. “Open up!” he shouted. “My car broke down and it’s pouring fucking rain out here! Let me in!”
The light flickered inside and it was only his echoing voice that accompanied him this time. He nearly gave up, cursing those damned rich people who had no sympathy for those less fortunate than them, when he heard something return his echo.
Footsteps. Click-tap. Click-tap. Click-tap down the stairs. Click-tap of fancy shoes that soon fell silent as they hit the bottom of the stairs and crossed towards the door. He saw the light growing brighter through the window to his right as whoever it was drew closer. He took a step back right when something on the door clicked. The heavy door opened slowly, first a crack and then the rest of the way. A very well dressed man greeted him, his gaze looking down at him past his nose. There was no sign of a cigar, but Quackity swore he could taste the smoke of one in the air between them. The man was very handsome, a black beard lining his chin, trimmed and neat. He held a candelabra, the candles flickering in the calming wind of the storm. The man’s eyes dragged down Quackity’s shivering form, and the blank expression on his face softened a touch before a smile curled across his features.
“Evening,” the man greeted, his voice deep and almost warm. “Let’s get you out of the rain, at least.” He stepped aside, sweeping the candelabra in an arc to beckon Quackity inside.
“T-thanks,” Quackity said, his eyes trained on the man, but still stepping inside. There was a long carpet stretching from the door and up an enormous grand staircase. He couldn’t really tell the colors, that is until the man behind him snapped. Lights flared on immediately, many of them candles and flames while others crackled and shined with electricity.
The entrance was grand, made of sleek stone and heavy, dark wood, and Quackity immediately realized that it was far warmer in there than he expected, especially from what looked to be an old-ass house. Paintings hung all over the walls, both portraits and landscapes, and Quackity really tried not to gawk at the chandelier hanging above him. It glittered like fucking diamonds. The whole mansion hummed in extravagance and rich person bullshit.
The man walked up behind him and settled his hand on his shoulder. Quackity stiffened under the sudden touch, but it was just him stepping back into view. The wry smile on his face widened and he dipped his head in a greeting. “I am the Lord of the House, Schlatt. Welcome.”
Oh. Fuck. The owner. The literal guy in charge of the house. The rich fuck who he’d come to soaking wet and probably tracking mud all over his pretty pristine carpet. Quackity didn’t have the energy in him to really care about manners or proper etiquette, but he really didn’t want to get kicked back outside in the rain. So he tried to smile back and stuck out his hand. “Name’s Quackity. Nice to meet you.”
Schlatt hummed, eying the hand before taking it into his own and giving him a very firm shake. “Pleasure. Now, may I–”
A loud thud next to them cut Schlatt off. He barely flinched, though Quackity was sure he jumped about a foot in the air. When he got his senses back online from bolting from the new threat, he realized it was another very well dressed man. He didn’t wear a suit like Schlatt did, but oh boy, those sure were rich person’s clothes. Sleek, wrinkle-free, and stylish. The newcomer brushed back a thick head of wavy hair, grinning with all his teeth at Quackity.
“How many times do I need to tell you to stop jumping from the second floor, Wilbur?” Schlatt said, gesturing at the man.
Wilbur turned his grin back to Schlatt, and simply shrugged. “I heard we had a new guest, and I wanted to greet them properly.”
“Then come down the stairs next time. That’s what they’re there for.” Schlatt rubbed the bridge of his nose while Wilbur stepped right into Quackity’s personal bubble. He stepped back, and was grateful that he didn’t follow him into the new open space.
“Oh, aren’t you pretty?” Wilbur said instead of greeting him like a normal person. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and Quackity immediately shut down any positive feelings towards him. If he was gonna be a creep, then he was going to get treated like a creep.
“I’m Quackity, actually,” he said, his polite smile twitching down into a frown.
Wilbur hummed in acknowledgement, then turned back to Schlatt, who was watching the two of them. “Where’s Technoblade?” he asked. “He’s usually the one to open up the door.”
As if on cue, the most enormous man Quackity had ever seen stepped in through a side door. His own outfit was soaked from the heavy rain. There was a strap over his chest, and Quackity froze when he saw the tip of the hunting rifle on his back. He swallowed and watched the man, Technoblade, throw a newly dead deer over his shoulder. He stared straight at Quackity, Wilbur, and Schlatt, nodded their way once, then left the room without another word.
“Ah.” Wilbur clasped his hands together, then held one out to Schlatt. “May I have the candelabra? So I can lead Quackity upstairs?”
Schlatt stood still, his dark gaze flicking over to Quackity. He didn’t hand the candelabra to Wilbur yet, but walked up to Quackity, staring down his nose at him. Quackity tried to stand up straight and show he wasn’t intimidated by the man’s presence. It must have worked because the man’s eyes seemed to soften again.
“First, I would like to know why you’re here.”
Well, he wasn’t going to tell them about Jay. That was for fucking sure. He didn’t really want to get caught in a lie, though, so he gave as much of the truth as he could get away with. “I was traveling and my car broke down about a mile from here. I came here looking for help.”
“You couldn’t call anyone?”
“Phone’s dead,” he lied.
Wilbur and Schlatt passed a glance to each other. It was Schlatt who spoke again. “We won’t be able to help you until the storm passes. Tomorrow, I’ll have some of the staff go find your car and we’ll look into the problem. For now, you can stay here. Or, if you are trying to get somewhere urgently, we could have one of our staff bring you there tomorrow.”
Quackity didn’t have a place he was going to. The only plan was to leave and never return. To drive until he found somewhere safe, or die trying. He would not allow himself to go back to Jay. He agreed to stay until the car was fixed, if it could be. He didn’t answer any questions about where he was going. Satisfied, Schlatt handed the candelabra to Wilbur, and bid them a good night.
Quackity followed Wilbur up into the house. Castle. Thing. Whatever. They climbed at least one flight of stairs and Quackity was loath to admit that he was already breathing heavily after that much. He didn’t get the chance to work out as much as he’d like, but that was fine with him. Maybe he should’ve tried harder. He frowned at the floor, lost in his thoughts enough that he didn’t realize Wilbur had stopped until he walked into the man’s back.
“Falling asleep on me already?” Wilbur asked, his voice teasing and playful. It only made Quackity want to bite him.
“I’ve been awake for a bit. You’ll have to forgive me,” he said back, trying to corral his voice into something closer to niceness. He didn’t want to be rude enough that they kicked him back out into the rain.
“Oh, I think I’ll be able to manage that.” Wilbur winked slyly at Quackity and gestured towards a closed door. “This will be your room for as long as you stay. Apologies for any mess. It’s not often we get many visitors.” He pushed open the door and gestured for Quackity to step in first.
He fixed Wilbur with an unimpressed stare, but he was still waiting for Quackity to walk in. He huffed and stepped into the room. Even though he mentioned a mess, Quackity was surprised to find it… almost clean. Sure, there were books and odd jars full of things all over the shelves, but the floor was clean and the bed looked well made and… comfy… Quackity felt his muscles ache all over his body, his energy fully drained from running from Jay and everything else that happened after. He wanted to collapse into the bed and all its pillows and he was sure he’d pass out immediately.
But then he remembered Wilbur behind him.
The man stood just inside the room with him, the candelabra set aside, the candles left to flicker in the dim room. There were light switches on the walls, electrical outlets, and various electric lights all over. Also some kind of central heating, he was sure, since he had warmed up since coming into the house. The candelabras must be an aesthetic choice then. Weird. Creepy even. At least it matched its residents.
“We have a washroom if you’d like to clean up from your harrowing journey. It is down the hall, just to the right. My own room is also just down the hall.”
“Lemme guess. Right by the bathroom?”
“Across from it, actually. Nice spot for me, if you know what I mean.” Wilbur gave him another one of those playful smiles, the ones that made Quackity internally gag.
“Sure,” he replied after swallowing the bile that climbed up his throat. God, why’d he have to get stuck with the creep? Quackity shook his head and started unloading his damp bags to the floor, still very aware of the presence at his back. He turned to glare at Wilbur, who was very clearly eying up his body (and the way the rain-soaked clothes clung to him, probably). “I appreciate your help,” he said slowly, measuring out his words. “But could I have some privacy? To change?”
“Into more wet clothes?” Wilbur asked, his eyes dropping to the soaked bag at Quackity’s feet.
His mouth pressed into a fine line. God, he hated this fucking prick. “Yeah. Got a problem with that?”
“Yes, actually.” Wilbur stepped closer, pausing for a brief moment when Quackity reflexively snatched his bag away from Wilbur’s reaching hand. Something passed over Wilbur’s face, and the smile faltered for a moment, but then the lazy and playful smile was back. He kept his hands raised as he slid between Quackity and the bed. Quackity twitched when the man’s front brushed against his ass, but Wilbur didn’t touch him other than that.
Quackity would make sure he’d keep his knife close to his hand tonight. He wasn’t about to get molested as a way to pay back what should be basic hospitality.
Wilbur stopped in front of a large wardrobe, his slim fingers expertly unlocking it. He held onto one of the doors, leaning into the wardrobe so that his ass stuck out for Quackity’s viewing pleasure as he looked through the contents. Quackity rolled his eyes and pointedly looked away. It did mean that when Wilbur found what he was looking for and tossed it to him, it hit Quackity square in the face.
“What the fuck was that for?” Quackity snapped.
Wilbur closed the wardrobe and leaned against the wood. “Not my fault if you’re not paying attention. Those should be close to your size. And far warmer than what you’ve got on.”
Quackity looked down at the fabric in his hands. It was a shirt and a pair of pajama pants, something old and worn, but still soft. Well loved and taken care of, even if it had been stuck in a wardrobe for years. He pulled it up to his nose and found that it didn’t even smell old. It didn’t smell stale, like it had been in a closet for years collecting dust. He stared down at it, struck dumb by the fact that this was just… in his hands. It looked like it used to be Wilbur’s, at some point in his life.
It even smelled like him, faintly.
“Well, I guess I’ll give you some privacy now,” Wilbur commented. He slid back between Quackity and the bed, but this time Quackity stepped to the side before their pelvises could touch again. Wilbur looked almost disappointed by the movement and it reminded him that he was still dealing with a fucking creep. No matter what kind of heartfelt and wholesome actions he took, the man was still a creep and a prick. Quackity watched him, motionless, as he strode across the room, his hips swaying in what seemed to be a teasing fashion. And damn him, but Quackity felt his attention get pulled to look. Like a hand lightly guiding his head to tilt downward, and he felt like he should give into the very pretty man and–
“You know, Quackity,” Wilbur said, his voice slicing through the thoughts filling Quackity’s head unbidden. His head snapped up immediately, his cheeks burning, but his feet squared and ready to launch at him with his knife in his pants if the man tried anything. Wilbur’s eyes flicked up and down on him, his smile faltering for barely a moment again before it widened into that sly grin. “If you need someone to loosen out that tension you’ve got, I give a mean massage.”
“Fuck off,” Quackity snapped.
Wilbur shrugged, then slid out of the room with a final wave goodbye with his slim fingers. Quackity listened intently as the footsteps faded. About twenty… thirty feet down the hall, a door opened. The footsteps turned into the room and the door closed. He heard a lock click shut. And then… nothing.
He waited a beat longer before he finally tugged off the soaked clothes. At least the room was warm. He wasn’t likely to freeze if he was naked and damp for too long. He took a step towards the wardrobe, his eyes searching for a towel in the dim room, when he stopped, a realization slamming into him like a semi t-boning him on the highway.
“Fuck,” he hissed softly into the empty room as he felt his cunt leak slickness down his thigh. He hadn’t fucked anyone in a long fucking time, at least not on his own terms. He barely trusted himself to jack off too. He didn’t see a reason to do it anyways. It’s not like his fantasies would give him much respite, or let him relax in any shape or way. And whoever said they helped with period pain was a lying fuck. All it ever did for him was make him feel even worse.
He didn’t find a towel, so he wiped himself dry on the sheets, cursing his own body and its reactions to another pretty face. He pulled on the dry clothes and lifted his arm up to his nose again. Just to check. Like before, it smelled like Wilbur. He felt his body relax by degrees, but not enough to fully ease the aches and pains in his body. He took everything out of his bag and found places to hang them up to dry, then grabbed his toothbrush and such, and walked down the hall to the washroom.
Sure enough, about thirty feet down were two doors facing each other. One was the washroom on the left, and then there was Wilbur’s. The door was cracked open and light spilled out from inside. Unable to help his curiosity, he risked a peek into the room. He didn’t get far before he came face to face with Wilbur. The man’s shirt had mysteriously disappeared. At least his pants were still there, even if they hung loosely off his hips. He leaned out of the doorway and into the hall. The fucker was damned tall too, what the fuck?
“You coming to take me up on the offer?” Wilbur asked, his voice low and smooth.
And, damn him, but Quackity felt his body react to the very attractive man basically offering his entire self to him. His cunt pulsed, and he felt Wilbur’s eyes trail down his body, lingering on his hips and where his old clothes clung to Quackity’s frame. Quackity stepped up into his space, a snarl tearing across his face. Wilbur leaned back, his lazy smile vanishing into genuine surprise, and he leaned back away from Quackity.
“In your dreams, you creep ,” he hissed. Quackity stood his ground until Wilbur took a step back into his own room, his hands raised up in front of him. Satisfied, Quackity spun on his heel and entered the bathroom, slamming the door behind him for good measure.
Later that night, Quackity slept peacefully in the borrowed bed. Well… at least he would pretend he did, if anyone asked in the morning. Inside his head, though, was an entirely different story.
“Fuck off!” Quackity shouted at the man pinning him to the wall. “Get off, get off of me! I said, get off!” He threw his head back, cracking his skull against his attacker’s. He swore as he released him, his hand to his face, rubbing at the broken part of his nose. Quackity didn’t spare any time the second he was released. He bolted.
It was raining, the lightning striking across the clouded sky. The wind ripped at his face, tore at his clothes, and he ran and ran and ran and ran until his lungs burned and he tasted blood in his mouth and then a hand caught his shoulder and pulled him around to face the shifting darkness of his attacker. The hand wrapped around his throat and threw him against the wall again. The man’s hot breath heated his skin, the kiss on his throat like a brand. There was a hand on his waist, pulling down at his pants, talking about how good he felt, how good his cunt was taking his cock, how good he was as the owned bitch he was, and how good he was going to make all his friends feel as they forced their way into his holes until he choked on his own tongue and the hand was on his shoulder, shaking him. He tried to brain himself on the sidewalk, just to end it all, to end it before it got worse, to end his consciousness before he had to feel Jay’s–
“Quackity!”
Quackity jerked awake, his knife in his hand instantly and the blade pressed to the soft, fleshy, vulnerable throat of Jay–
He froze. Wilbur froze.
He stared at the man, at the shadow behind his eyes, but all the flickering lamplight showed was Wilbur. Wilbur and his shock, his surprise, and the knife cutting into the vulnerable length of his throat. In the darkness, Quackity could have sworn he saw… No, no. His mind was just playing tricks on him. He grabbed his own arm and forced it away from Wilbur’s throat and firmly, stiffly, put the knife down on the nightstand. Out of immediate reach, but still in sight. Wilbur swallowed, and the flex of his throat caused the blood welling at the surface of the cut to bead and drip down the smooth length of his throat.
Quackity braced for his punishment, braced for the slap or the punch or the screaming match to begin. The berating for him attacking someone over something so small and so little and so insignificant as a dream that never “happened”.
“I, uh,” Wilbur started, his hand pressing a handkerchief to the wound to slow the bleeding. “I heard you… screaming. Down the hall.”
Quackity looked up at him, staring at him where Wilbur had turned his eyes away. He didn’t think… he wasn’t usually vocal when he had a nightmare. Jay would’ve forced him to shut up if he was. How did…?
“I just came in to check on you, and I,” Wilbur licked his lips, taking a second to pause. To think through his words. “I saw you thrashing. And I just… did what I could, and I shook you awake.”
“Well, I’m awake now,” Quackity growled. He sat upright, crossing his legs, and faced Wilbur. “There something you want?”
“Uh, well,” Wilbur started, his shock seeming to subside for– “You’re obviously very tense. I could give you a massage and–fuck!” Wilbur cried out as Quackity shoved him off the bed with all his strength. The man laid on the ground, dazed, and Quackity leaned over the edge of the bed to glare down at him.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Fuck. Off.”
Quackity woke up the next morning with an ache in his skull and an ache in his side and an ache well… not between his legs, for once. Or his ass. Or his mouth. He didn’t wake up with cum between his thighs, or on his face, or splashed across his chest. It was… almost nice, to not wake up with the signs of Jay’s ownership on his body. He slid out of bed, wincing as pain ached deep in his side. He risked a glance down and grimaced. The bruise on his side had grown as it healed. He grit his teeth and pushed up to stand on his feet. It didn’t hurt too badly. He could deal with it. It looked ugly as hell, but hey, so did he. At least they matched.
He staggered on stiff legs to where he hung up his clothes from the night before and found them… folded, dry, and smelling faintly of detergent and slightly burned plastic. Someone washed his clothes, and left them there. He checked the door, then listened for any noises outside. Only when he was sure he was alone did he undress. His clothes were soft on his skin and he felt his body relax by a few degrees. He reached for his phone on reflex, but pulled his hand away.
He was still on the run. His car was still probably on the side of the road, or towed away by now. Jay would be looking for him, and Quackity refused to be found. He reached for his knife instead and stashed it back in his pants.
Making his way down the hall, he saw Wilbur’s door was cracked open, but dark. When he stopped to listen, he didn’t hear the man. Not sleeping, not creeping around. Just… not there. Quackity locked the bathroom door anyways, just in case.
The mirror was wide, nearly taking up an entire wall, and utterly spotless. Bath soaps, oils, and washes lined the counter, along with a note in sweeping and curving script,
For Quackity’s Use
- W
He threw the note in the trash and instead leaned on the counter to look at his face. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes. His hair hung limply in his face, black as tar and just as heavy. There was a faint red mark on his cheek (a slap) and a pair of bite marks on his collarbone (broke the skin) and one tiny little hickey from a week ago that should have faded by now. He looked like a mess. He looked like shit. He felt like shit. And after a moment of hesitation, he grabbed some shampoo and some body soap, and climbed into the shower.
At least the water was warm. At least the door locked. At least Wilbur wasn’t just outside the door. At least they gave him some semblance of privacy, and he was damned sure to make use of that for as long as he could. He was only there until his car was fixed. He could handle a few days. He’d handle a few days with them and then he’d be on the run again. He closed his eyes against the thoughts and the nightmares still lingering in his mind and focused on cleaning up.
The air was still warm when he stepped out of the shower. The towels were soft on his skin. He felt less like a piece of shit that should have been left abandoned in the mud. He reached into the trash carefully, and pulled the note out of it. In a hastily written script with a pen he found in the drawer, he wrote, “Thank you.”
Quackity stopped just outside the large living room. There were windows on all the walls, tall floor-to-ceiling ones with wispy white curtains as the only barrier to the outside. Wilbur lounged on the couch, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. He watched as he lifted it to his lips, taking a long sip of it. His throat flexed, the Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. Quackity’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, then dragged his attention away from Wilbur’s throat as he walked into the room. There was a platter of breakfast pastries left out, and he paused at it to grab something to eat.
“There’s some coffee over there,” Wilbur commented, pointing one slim finger towards a small cart with a coffee pot on a hotplate. “It’s fresh. Black. Hot.” Wilbur leaned in with a growing grin, then finished by drawing out the next word, “And thick. If you want some, of course.”
Quackity nodded, already turning towards the pot of coffee. He didn’t really care what it tasted like, or how thick it was, as long as it was strong enough to wake him up. At his side, one of the staff appeared. A short-statured man, his limbs a bit gangly even all folded up like he was. Quackity thanked him, feeling a bit awkward, and grabbed a cup of coffee. He walked back to Wilbur, his treat and coffee in hand, and sat down slowly. Not next to Wilbur, but close. Close enough.
Wilbur didn’t try to lean in and flirt with him, seemingly content to just share his space and company. Quackity didn’t trust it at all.
He turned his attention to the coffee in his hand and took a cautious sip. He blinked, stared straight at the coffee, then tipped his head back to drink even more of it at once.
“Good?” Wilbur asked, a smile on his lips.
“Yeah, it fucking is. It’s.. it’s one of my favorites. Made just how I like it.”
“Oh, really?” Wilbur laughed, then raised his mug towards the staff. “Delicious as always, Jacob!”
Quackity wiped a drop of coffee that had spilled out around his mug with the back of his hand, then focused on the treat in his hand. Call him a basic bitch or whatever, but there was no way in hell he was going to pass up a free cinnamon roll. He picked it apart, unrolling it as he ate it. He could feel Wilbur’s eyes on him, but screw him. He was going to enjoy his coffee and his cinnamon roll to his heart’s content. The center was always his favorite part, and this one was gooey and dripping with warm cinnamon and cream cheese. It dripped down his hand, and once he was done with the roll, he licked his fingers clean.
Wilbur’s gaze was intense on him, staring at him without full-on turning his head towards him, but still watching him. He pointedly pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop, staring back at him with such an unimpressed look that he hoped he got his point across. He could tell he was staring, but not doing a damn thing about it this morning. Maybe getting a knife pressed to his throat finally got it through his head that he didn’t want that fuck’s hands on him.
“Are you sure you don’t want that massage?”
Guess not. Hell.
“Why do you keep bringing it up? I’ve told you to fuck off like three times now. Why don’t you get it through your head that I don’t want your fucking hands on me?”
“I’m not planning on assaulting you, Quackity,” Wilbur said bluntly.
Quackity went stiff.
Quieter, Wilbur added, “I saw the bruises. I can tell you’re stressed and that you’re running from something. I don’t need to know who, but I thought…”
“You thought?”
“... that maybe it would be nice. That maybe you’d enjoy a kind hand on you for once.”
Quackity considered him. He hadn’t tried to touch him since he woke up from the nightmare. He didn’t try to lean or lay on him or brush their pelvises together or anything forward at all. He gave him space, though he was still incessantly asking about the massage. He pressed his mouth into a line, feeling the ache in his side again when he shifted on the couch. He guessed… it might. It might feel nice.
“Will you quit asking me about it if I say yes?” This was a dangerous game. Give in once and you might lose the rest of your consent for the rest of your life. But he was tired of hearing Wilbur asked, and… okay, it sounded nice, okay? Shoot him for being a weak sack of shit.
“Of course. And if you don’t enjoy it, you tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”
Quackity had heard that lie several times over. He’d have no hope of stopping him if he wanted to go further, but maybe Quackity would get the knife in deeper if he tried anything.
“Fine. Let’s get it over with.”
Wilbur immediately brightened. He jumped to his feet, nearly splashing the coffee over the carpet. He set the mug down, then nearly ran over to a closet, gathering up what Quackity assumed were massage supplies. He watched him get everything set up, feeling the coffee sitting in his guts like a weight. After a few minutes, he beckoned Quackity up onto the massage table. There was a hole for his face, but Wilbur stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“This works better with your shirt off.”
“Of course, it does.” Quackity huffed out a breath, then rolled his shirt off and tossed it to the side. He never saw the need to wear a binder, nor a bra. His tits were basically nothing. Small as shit and easy to hide when he needed to. He glanced back at Wilbur, expecting the creep to be ogling his tits like some cartoon pervert. But Wilbur had closed his eyes, then covered his eyes with a hand for extra measure. Quackity stared at him, then slowly laid down on the table, his tits pressed up against a soft towel resting on the table and his face slotted into the hole.
“Ready,” he said as an afterthought.
Above him, Wilbur gasped. Quackity could imagine what he saw. A thin body bruised up like fuck. Beaten black and blue and purple and sickly green. Scars on his back from where Jay clawed him up. A tiny little brand at the base of his spine that Jay’s friends thought sooooooo hilarious and made Quackity want to vomit every time he was reminded of who “owned” him.
When Wilbur’s hands first rested on his back, he jerked away. Wilbur’s hands jerked away at the same time, then waited until Quackity relaxed down again. His hands traced down Quackity’s spine, light as a feather, then stopped just above his waistband.
“I have no plans to go any lower than this,” Wilbur said somewhere above him, pressing lightly on his skin. “This is a back massage. Nothing else.” His hands traced back up to his side, lightly pressing into the bruise. Quackity tried to bite down on his gasp of pain, but his breath hitched and the pressure disappeared. “And I’ll avoid this. I’m going to start now.”
Quackity grunted in response and returned his gaze to the floor. The floor wasn’t very interesting, though, and he felt exhaustion tug at his eyelids again. His eyes fell shut a few moments later, right as Wilbur’s hands started at his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a back massage, and he didn’t really know what to expect from it. He certainly didn’t expect the feeling of Wilbur’s knuckles rolling into his flesh, into his muscles. It hurt, a little, but nothing that he wasn’t used to. On second thought, it was actually far less pain than he was used to.
The exhaustion lingering at his peripherals flooded into his body when Wilbur worked out the first knot. It was something in his shoulder; a tightness that released like a spring, and Quackity couldn’t bite down on the groan that slipped out of his mouth. Somewhere above him, he heard a soft laugh from Wilbur. He waited for the tease, the playful grin and the rolling hands to grip his waist and–
“There you go,” Wilbur purred close to his head, breathing in deeply. “Just relax for me, Quackity. Let me take care of all your knots and tension.”
His voice was soothing, Quackity noted. Working his knots loose and letting all the tension drain out of him and talking to him all soft and sweet and something in Quackity’s head just… gave in. His body slumped on the table, and another groan slipped out. And then another. And then a gasp of pain and Wilbur’s hands moved away from the spot to work out the kinks somewhere else. He lost track of time, lost himself in the feeling of Wilbur’s hands on his back, on his spine. His voice drifted around him, laying across his body like a weighted blanket, and Quackity let himself just enjoy the feeling. By the time Wilbur worked loose the last knot in his back, Quackity was half-dozing on the table.
Wilbur gazed down at Quackity’s back, resisting the urge to kiss the skin. He let him rest, softly telling him he was going to get some rocks that were warming and place them on his skin. Quackity made a soft noise of acknowledgement, too far gone in that good place in his head. Wilbur gathered up the stones and carefully placed them on his back. He made sure the lighter ones sat on the bruises that covered his body, hoping to warm them and ease their pain. Somehow, Quackity relaxed under his touch even further and Wilbur licked his lips. Once he was done, he ran his fingers slowly down Quackity’s exposed skin, and breathed in deeply. This would sate him for a while, and it was oh so delicious.
Over the next few days, Quackity explored as much of the mansion as he could. Wilbur had stopped being such a creep around him, though he did get clingy sometimes. He backed off when Quackity snapped at him, but that was only once or twice. Even though the house was old as shit, it was well maintained. He saw at least seven members of staff around, cleaning and dusting and fixing the wiring or the lights or places where the wallpaper deteriorated throughout the days. He made sure to thank them as he passed, and they were very helpful to him in return when he inevitably got lost or turned around. He soon found a library deep in a back corner of the mansion. There, he saw the other member of the house: Technoblade.
The man was fucking massive: huge in both stature and presence, and Quackity dipped his head and tried to avoid him as much as possible. It wasn’t that he was intimidated, per se, but… He’d seen the hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. He’d seen the carcasses he carried in, the blood staining his gloves and the apron he wore while preparing the animal for meals.
He didn’t want to learn what it was like on the other end of that gun.
One day, though, while he was reading the spines for something to read, he felt Technoblade’s presence close in on his back. He startled, spinning on his heel, reaching for his knife, only to come face-to-face with a book.
“This might interest you,” he drawled, his eyes turned up and away from Quackity. He leaned in to read the title, squinting against the worn cover. Seeing he was having trouble, Technoblade added, “It’s an anthology of stories relating to various mythologies around the world.” He nodded to the section they were in, which Quackity realized now was about mythology.
Quackity took the book with a quiet thanks, and ran his finger over the worn cover. He opened up the book, surprised to see that it also contained art to go along with the various stories. It was gorgeous artwork, the artists’ names in the bottom corners of the pages. Even if the stories didn’t hold his attention, the artwork was sure to. When he finally dragged his eyes away from the book, he saw Technoblade walking away.
The book was good. Engaging, even. Quackity devoured the stories, even while he walked around. It helped keep his mind off of the reality of the situation. He was stuck in this mansion with three men he barely knew until his car was fixed. Or… explain to them why he really was out here in the middle of fucking nowhere running for a place he couldn’t even lie about. Jay might still find him. Jay would probably find him if he stayed in one place for too long. Fear burrowed itself into his skull, into his body like a worm in the earth, and he woke up one night shaking.
He pushed open the door to his room, trembling in the borrowed pajamas. Wilbur’s door was closed, the space under it dark. Quackity walked down the hall, chewing on his lips as he wandered the halls. Eventually, he saw a light appear at the end of the hall. It was one of the staff walking around at night, watching for trespassers and the like. It took a moment before they spotted Quackity alone in the dark, but he swore when he first saw them before they saw him, they looked… strange.
But then they saw Quackity and lifted the light towards him, illuminating their face, and they were normal again. They helped him to the library, left him a lantern to read by, and left with their own candelabra. He watched them until they turned around a corner, but he didn’t see the strangeness again.
Over the next few days, however, he kept seeing shit. He kept seeing one of the staff out of the corner of his eye and they looked strange too. Either too short, too long, too gangly, too stubby, too… too weird. But when he’d look closer, they’d be just another person working on the mansion or working on his car. He thought it was a trick of the light, or the absence of it. The result of too little sleep or too much anxiety or… something reasonable. But it kept happening and Quackity wanted to get to the bottom of it.
So, one day, he found himself in front of Schlatt’s office. Of the three men who lived here, Quackity rarely saw Schlatt. He was always in his office, or somewhere else within the mansion. He kept to himself for the most part, though sometimes he would join them all for dinner. Quackity wouldn’t normally try to bother him; the man had let him stay in their home while his car was fixed up even though Quackity refused to explain why he was out there in the first place. The door to the office was closed. Like the front door, this one too was a heavy, dark wood. There was a swirling pattern of black iron that decorated that door, one similar to the gate and the fence surrounding the property. This was Schlatt’s house; Quackity assumed it was an intentional design choice.
He steeled his nerves, even though his hands shook as he raised one fist up. He hesitated one more time before rapping his knuckles on the wood. He waited a moment, then did it again. He called through the door this time, hoping against the small bit of hope left in his chest that he wasn’t crossing the line here. “Schlatt? It’s Quackity. I want to talk to you.” It was quiet for a moment, and Quackity chewed his lip as he waited. He considered just leaving there and then before his nerves ate him alive, but then he heard the man shuffle somewhere deep inside the room.
“Come in,” Schlatt's voice called through the door, his voice carrying across his office. Quackity licked his lips, his hands clammy as he fumbled with the doorknob. He turned it, then pressed his weight against the door to open it. The doors in this place were always so fucking heavy. It made him feel small and helpless; he hated the feeling. He gritted his teeth and pushed it the rest of the way, enough that he could slide in.
Schlatt’s office was the one place he didn’t know particularly well. The man had made it clear he didn’t like to be disturbed and Quackity wasn’t entirely comfortable to know if he was risking a slap to the face by walking in, or just a few choice words. The man sat in a black office chair, one of those comfy and expensive as fuck ones, his legs obviously crossed by the hint of a knee he could see over the probably horribly expensive desk. Schlatt looked up from his paperwork, his eyes bright and piercing. Quackity resisted the chill that wanted to shiver down his spine and stepped forward until he was right in front of the desk.
Schlatt hummed, then set aside the report he’d been reading. He sat back in his chair and fixed Quackity with his steady and impassive gaze. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, his voice smooth as the whiskey that still burned in Quackity’s throat from the evening before.
“Yeah,” Quackity replied, then took a moment to work the words around in his mouth. He crossed his arms across his chest, then cocked his hip to the side, trying his damnedest to look more in control of the situation than he really felt. “I wanna know exactly what you’re hiding.”
Schlatt’s mouth twitched. His head tilted to the side as if he were trying to figure out Quackity’s aim here. “You’ll have to be more clear on that one, sweetheart.”
Quackity’s eyes narrowed and he hissed, “Don’t call me that.”
Schlatt lifted a hand up, staying him, and sat back in his chair.
“You guys are hiding something, and I don’t know what the fuck it is. But I’m gonna bet it’s got something to do with the fucking gremlins I saw working on my car out front.”
At that, Schlatt sat up straighter. His mouth straightened into a flat line, and Quackity grinned at him. They held their gazes for a few moments, considering each other. Quackity wasn’t leaving this room until he got to the bottom of it. Schlatt wasn’t nearly as scary as just another guy was. He wasn’t Jay, and Quackity was sure he could handle whatever bullshit the man was about to spew at him to cover his ass.
Schlatt stared at him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Quackity held his ground and stared at him back. He stared him down, waiting for something. Anything.
And then Schlatt lifted a hand up in the air and snapped his fingers.
And Quackity saw just exactly what he was hiding.
It started from the top of his head, a line of light traveling down his face, down his throat, down his chest, down his whole body. The glamor vanished and he saw Schlatt lean forward with two large, curling horns that sprouted from the sides of his head. Within the swirling lines of his horns, embers glowed and sparked. Jewelry adorned his horns: gold chains with rubies inlaid in golden pendants. The rubies seemed to glow in the dim and flickering light. His eyes were a deep shade of red too, the pupils flat like a ram’s. His mouth opened, his teeth almost human, but the canines sharper, longer, and far more numerous. Thick black smoke spilled out from the corners of his mouth as he propped his chin in his hand, his flesh nearly black like he had stuck his arm into a bucket of paint. Quackity stood still, his throat still working to swallow his fear and his shock, even as his brain struggled desperately to keep up with what he was looking at.
“Surprised, darling?” Schlatt asked, his voice still the same, even after the whole transformation.
“... Yeah. Yeah, I think you could call me surprised.”
“You’re scared,” Schlatt commented before pointedly licking his lips.
“Yeah, no shit.” Quackity swallowed his fear again and forced his limbs to move, to cover himself again. “So… what exactly are you supposed to be?”
Schlatt chuckled; more smoke drifted out, clouding up over his head. “A demon, for your information. All of us are.”
Quackity squinted at him, piecing together what that meant. “Even the staff?”
“Even the staff.”
Well, that explained what he kept seeing. At least he could rest easy knowing he wasn’t going crazy. He pressed his lips into a firm line, tapping his chin as he put together his thoughts. If they were all demons, then… A realization struck him suddenly, and he snapped his fingers as soon as it hit. “Wilbur’s an incubus, isn’t he?”
“Smart boy, aren’t you?” Schlatt replied, his head tilting to the side as he continued watching him. “Can you guess the rest of us?”
“Eh, I’m not too familiar with demon types. In a surprising twist, I don’t know too many demons.”
“I never would have guessed.” His head tilted the other way. “Do you want a hint?”
“If you’ve got one for me.”
“Techno’s a boar. And I’m the Lord of the House.”
“So… boar demon? And… what, house demon?”
Schlatt barked out a laugh. It was truly a sight, seeing this terrifying demon burst into a fit of laughter over something he said. And it wasn’t mocking laughter. It wasn’t pity laughter. It was a genuine expression of delight and a touch of surprise mixed in. Quackity felt something warm in his chest at the sight, and a mix of emotions coiled around in his guts.
“No, no. You’re right about Tech, but I gave you that one.” Schlatt wiped at his eyes, still grinning. He then pushed away from his desk and stood to his full height. Which… was definitely taller than his human form. At least a foot taller. Fuck. He walked around his desk, still speaking. “I am a Demon Lord, and the Lord of this House. This is my residence.” His smile flattened for a moment. “The other two showed up one day and then refused to leave.”
Quackity swallowed when Schlatt stopped in front of him. He tilted his head back, though he didn’t cower. He didn’t step back. He stood there, stood his ground, and tried to recover his composure to look at least a little bit unimpressed.
And then the door opened behind him with a creak and Quackity twitched forward at the sound. He didn’t catch himself in time, but then Schlatt’s hands wrapped around his arms, catching him instead before he brained himself on the buttons of his suit.
“Hello Gerald,” he greeted the staff member. Quackity turned just in time to see Gerald’s own glamor shift over his form, his expression emanating an entire “oh shit” moment. Gerald opened his mouth, but then Schlatt interrupted him, talking over whatever he was going to say. “He knows, Gerald.”
Gerald breathed an instant sigh of relief and his glamor fell away. Quackity went from looking him in the eye to needing to drop his head down to even look at the top of his head. The imp stood up as straight as he could, as tall as he could for what was effectively the height of a child, and Quackity just stood in Schlatt’s arms, far too perplexed to think that maybe he should take a step away from the man and his arms around him.
“Your Eminence,” Gerald said with a quick bow, “There is someone at the door, asking for Quackity.”
Quackity froze. His entire body went stiff, and if he couldn’t feel his heart already starting to pound in his chest, he would have sworn it stopped. He felt Schlatt straighten at the same time. His hand tightened over Quackity’s arm, reflexively pulling him in closer. Quackity barely noticed it, though, his eyes already staring into the empty space through the demon’s chest, all his senses on high alert.
“Who is it?” Schlatt asked carefully, his words measured.
Unperturbed by his employer’s reaction, Gerald said, “His name is Jay.”
Jay was not a name he’d heard before, but by the way Quackity froze up in his arms, Schlatt knew he didn’t want to know. He could taste Quackity’s fear on his tongue. Every time he breathed, it invaded his nostrils and clung to his throat. It was sour, acidic. Fear was usually delicious to him, as a demon lord. But the stench of cowering and paralyzed prey only made his stomach turn. He let Quackity stay in his home, in his residence, because his stubborn nature had been a welcome change to the atmosphere. Wilbur was stubborn. Tech was stubborn. But the prey that occasionally wandered into their web were never stubborn. Never sure of their own capabilities.
He’d never seen his prey turn on him and bare their own teeth at him. It was a welcome sight to see Quackity stand his ground, to snarl and snap and bite and curse them out. So to see Quackity as he was now, frozen, stiff, his heart racing so fast Schlatt could taste it in his own throat. To see him like this, terrified out of his own mind and shaking, well. That simply wouldn’t do.
He stalked to the door, leaving Quackity behind on the top of the steps and pushing his way past Wilbur. He ignored his indignant squawk, only turning his head to glare at him when he started to ask what was going on. Schlatt pointedly looked back at the stairs, where Quackity had slid to the floor, shaking. He could taste his fear from here; surely Wilbur could too.
Wilbur turned back to Schlatt and nodded firmly. He started following after him when Schlatt started for the door again. Good. He liked it when Wilbur had his back at times like this.
The door was unlocked, but not open, so Schlatt grabbed the handle and dragged it open. He stepped outside and into the sunlight, his glamor firmly in place. His gaze turned downward towards their visitor, and nodded a polite greeting.
“Hello and welcome to my home. What can I help you with?” he asked, his words slow and measured and just barely polite. Wilbur followed him out, closing the door behind him. He stayed mostly silent, just there as an added measure if this turned… unsavory.
The man in front of him, Jay, was well put together, if a bit wild looking in the eyes. He smiled politely back and Schlatt picked apart the lie before he even spoke it. “Hello sir. My name is Jay and I am looking for my boyfriend, Quackity. You see, he suddenly vanished one night and I’ve been looking for him ever since. That car that you have there, in the garage, is his. Here, I have a photo of him.” Jay pulled a picture out of his wallet and handed it to Schlatt. At least, he tried to, but Schlatt didn’t budge.
Wilbur took it instead, flicking it straight as he peered at the image. It was Quackity, for sure. It was the man currently cowering at the top of the stairs, seconds from his heart beating out of his chest in panic.
“So, have you seen him? I’m assuming he came by here, if that’s his car in the garage.”
“Doesn’t look familiar to me,” Wilbur commented as he handed the picture to Schlatt.
“We haven’t seen him,” Schlatt replied, not even looking at the picture. He wasn’t going to let this man a single step further onto his property, no matter what. He wasn’t about to let his prey fall into this man’s hands ever again.
Jay’s smile twitched. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice strained. Stiff. Frustrated and growing angry. “As I said before, that’s his car. In your garage.”
“My staff found it on the side of the road, in the way of others passing through,” Schlatt said calmly. “To avoid any harm to other drivers, we brought it back here and started to fix it up.”
“Well, can I take a look at it? There’s gotta be some belongings in there that are rightly mine .”
“Thought it was his car,” Wilbur interrupted, gesturing with the photo of Quackity.
“Yes. But I’m his boyfriend,” Jay said again, firmly.
“And we haven’t seen him,” Schlatt repeated. “There was no one in the car when we found it. Anyone who had been driving it was long gone. You won’t find what you’re looking for here. Trust me,” he said, nearly snarling at the man before him.
“Are you sure?” Jay started to step around them, reaching for the door behind Wilbur. “If you could just let me in and check the–” He froze, his eyes glued to the window. Jay’s expression switched from polite and strained to enraged in an instant. “You!” he snapped at Schlatt, pointing straight into the window.
Right to where the top of the stairs could be seen.
“Fuck,” Wilbur swore at the same moment Jay jabbed his finger back to them.
“You have him! I see him right there! You stole him!”
“Enough of this,” Schlatt snarled, his voice low. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wilbur grab the railing preemptively. Good. He knew what was coming.
“Give him back, you fuck! He’s mine, and you’ll give him back!”
“No.”
Storm clouds gathered above the house, thunder and lightning crackling far above them. Jay looked up, his eyes darting as he scanned the storm that suddenly appeared. Like the thunder, a growl rumbled through Schlatt’s chest. He squared his feet on the stone of his residence, and let the power of a demon lord slip through his careful grasp.
“I don’t think you understand what you’ve walked into, Jay. At best, you’re trespassing where you don’t belong,” Schlatt explained slowly. The wind picked up around them, and, slowly, his glamor melted away. He would savor the fear that filled the space between them, but to him, it was the same fear an ant feels right before it’s squashed under someone’s heel. “But I don’t think you deserve the best. I don’t think you deserve the benefit of the doubt.”
“What the fuck is this? What are you talking about?”
“We know,” Wilbur said, his own glamor falling away. His yellow eyes narrowed, the pupils slits even in the darkening storm. His wings opened at his back; an attempt to make himself seem larger to his enemy. Not that it was really needed. “We know what you did to him.”
Schlatt played along. He didn’t, at least not the details. But he didn’t need to know the details. Whatever this fuck had done to their Quackity, it was enough to send him cowering in pure prey panic. “We’re not ones to forgive you of your sins. If you still believe in a god that will save you, I suggest you start praying now.”
“Is… are you threatening me?”
The storm grew to a crescendo around them, the winds whipping and dragging at Jay and at Wilbur, who at least knew to hold onto something. Jay grabbed a railing too, his bravado vanishing as Schlatt stared down at him, the eye of the storm centered upon him. “No,” he said softly. “This is simply a warning.”
The storm vanished into nothingness and the forest that surrounded them disappeared. The next blink and they were in a field that stretched out, cold and dead and ripped asunder all the way to the horizon. Jay clutched at his mouth; the sour scent of bile filled the air and Schlatt glared down at him.
“This is the threat. If I ever see you again at the foot of my door, I will drag you down to where you belong.” The ground opened up behind Jay, and wailing, screaming, shrieking filled the air. The smell of fire and brimstone and cursed, charred flesh flooded into their nostrils. The sky turned red like blood and Schlatt stared down at the trembling form of Jay. “Do you understand?”
Jay stared over his shoulder at the pit to Hell itself, and nodded, dead silent.
“Good.”
The house shifted back to the forest in the next heartbeat, right back where it belonged. He watched Jay stumble back away from the house, his hand over his mouth, his chest heaving in both terror and an attempt to keep down his lunch. And then, like the vermin he was, he turned on his heel and bolted from the house and the demons who lived there.
Quackity clung to the railing of the main steps, watching as Schlatt stalked to the door. His eyes kept darting to the door, expecting it to open and for Jay to be there. How… how did he find him? Was it his phone? He kept it off, but had he found him because of it? He should have thrown it away as soon as he could. He never should have taken it with him. Jay was here and he was going to take him back and then he’d be… he’d…
He wasn’t going to survive the night, he realized. He slid to the floor, shaking, hyperventilating. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back to Jay. He’d die. If Jay didn’t kill him, the beating would. The rape would. The gun he carried in pocket would. He wasn’t going to survive this.
He never should have ran. If he wasn’t safe here, then he wasn’t safe anywhere. He had no friends. His family hated his guts. He only had Jay and Jay was going to–
“Bruh, you good?”
Quackity’s head snapped up. Towering above him was Technoblade. His glamor glimmered at the edges of Quackity’s vision. He glanced over the railing, down at the window, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the man outside. He was pointing at them, shouting through the window. Quackity hunched into a tighter ball, terrified and shaking like a leaf in the winter wind.
Technoblade hiked the deer carcass over his shoulder back into place; it had started to slip when he found Quackity. He clicked his tongue at the mortal, bringing his attention back to him and away from the door. “Hey, you got some time to help me out?”
. . .
Quackity stared down at the hunk of meat waiting to be cut in front of him. The smell of blood was sharp in his nose; would it ever stop feeling familiar? He blinked quickly to try to ground himself before he drifted away again. He pressed the tip of the knife to the meat and started cutting it away from the bone. The knife was sharp, sharper than anything he was ever allowed to have in his hands. One wrong slip and he could– His next inhale was shaky and he tried to set the thought aside like he did with the slice of meat. He was quiet for a while, his ears pricked for any sign of danger.
Technoblade brought him down to the cellar, where he prepared the animals he hunted and killed. His gun was on the wall, but out of the way. Out of reach too. Technoblade was in the other room, busying himself with draining the deer of blood and bringing out chunks of meat for Quackity to cut into smaller pieces. His panic had… subsided for now. It still buzzed in the back of his brain, but he tried to focus on the knife and the meat under the sharp blade. He listened to his surroundings with such an intensity, listening for any sign of danger, that when Technoblade stopped in front of him, he startled and stabbed the knife straight into the cutting board.
His head snapped up, his breathing fast, his eyes wild, his heart pounding like an antelope suddenly startled by the lion jumping on his haunches. His knuckles were white around the handle of the knife, his muscles flexing in an aborted attempt to yank it out of the board and use it against–
“Bruh,” Technoblade’s voice sliced through Quackity’s panic, the drawl pushing through like water against a sagging levee, and Quackity’s eyes blinked rapidly. Technoblade’s hands were wrapped up in a blood-stained towel, drying off the mess he made in the other room. The stench of blood was sharp in his nose, but he didn’t have a moment to linger on that thought when Technoblade gestured at the knife stuck in the board.
“I just sharpened that this morning. Come on, man.”
He didn’t step forward. He didn’t try to take the knife from him. He didn’t berate him for being such an idiot for reacting so stupidly. He…
Quackity’s tongue darted over his lips, wetting the scarred and chapped flesh. “He’s my boyfriend,” he said, his eyes boring into the blood-stained towel. Technoblade stiffened, but he didn’t say anything else. He just… waited. Quackity took that as a sign to keep going.
He wasn’t really sure if he’d be able to stop anyways.
“His name is Jay. It’s been four years with him and every day beyond the first has been a living hell for me. He hits me. He screams at me. I don’t think he ever loved me, and I’m damned sure I’ve hated him for the last three years.” His hand tightened on the handle of the knife, so tight that he might have been shaking. “He doesn’t let me leave the house, not without his permission. And not without three different trackers. I tried running.”
Quackity breathed in. His eyes blinked, but he no longer saw the bloody towel in Technoblade’s hands. All he saw was the door slamming open, Jay a dark shadow against the dimly lit hallway. His arm raised and Quackity stared straight into the barrel of a gun that he didn’t know Jay owned. He stood his ground, his body shaking. He remembered being so so so terribly afraid, and he felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a car barreling down the highway at him.
Quackity released the knife and lifted his hand up to his cheek. He flicked a scar on his face, one that cut across the meat of his cheek. He stared straight ahead as his mouth moved of its own accord, his voice following suit. “He shot me, but the bullet missed me. It only cut my cheek.” He blinked again, focusing again on Technoblade.
The man he’d gotten used to seeing stalking past the darkest corners of the hallways now looked different. Two large tusks cut through his mouth, poking out and up. His eyes were no longer a deep shade of brown, but rather had brightened and shifted in color, now reddish like an old bloodstain. The pupils had dilated while he was talking, as if to take in the world and its dangers around him. Quackity swallowed reflexively as he watched Technoblade take another step closer to him. Technoblade eyed him silently, his hand reaching out. He waited a beat, then grabbed the knife and yanked it out of the board. Quackity’s hand quickly dropped on the board to hold it down, his own eyes focusing on the knife.
But then Technoblade set the knife down next to the board, its handle closest to Quackity. It was out of the way, but still within reach if he needed it. Technoblade nodded once and took a few steps back, removing himself again from Quackity’s personal space. Quackity waited another beat, watching the demon for any tricks. Seeing none appear right away, he continued his explanation.
“I didn’t run again, until a few days ago. I did everything I could to make him not suspect a thing. I was his perfect little housewife,” he spat out the word. “I did everything I could. And then when he was out of the house for a while, I took my things and I left.”
“And now you’re here,” Technoblade drawled.
Quackity sat back in his chair, his eyes dropping down and to the side. “And now I’m here,” he echoed. “But so is Jay.” His mouth curled into a frown and then a snarl and then he slammed his fist on the table as he spat his hatred. “I did everything I could to make sure he couldn’t find me again and he did!”
“So?”
Quackity blinked. “Did you hear a single word I fucking said? He shot me! He tried to fucking kill me!”
“And he missed. At, uh,” Technoblade tilted his head as he studied Quackity’s face. “At point blank range?” he guessed.
“Yeah? A few feet away, but yeah? So?”
“He sounds like a terrible shot, if he’s missing such a big target at such a short distance. A terrible shot, at best.” Technoblade’s mouth curled into a cruel smile. “And an incompetent mortal at worst.”
Quackity blinked at Technoblade, something tight in his chest unraveling. The wire of himself that was pulled taut at all hours of the day now slipped free. He huffed out a laugh, then a snicker, and then he sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his grin almost a mirror of Technoblade’s. “Yeah, I guess he is.”
Technoblade nodded, then walked up close to check the slices of meat that Quackity had been cutting. “Good, these are good.”
Quackity warmed at the sudden praise, his eyes darting to the side. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and he grumbled out a “thanks”.
“And, if it’s any consolation, you won’t need to worry about Jay here.”
“Are you sure about that?” Quackity asked, his disbelief clear with the frown that returned to his face.
“Oh yeah.” Technoblade lifted his head up towards the floor above them, then motioned for Quackity to grab the table. Confused, Quackity did so. He waited a beat and then–
The building shifted. Nothing around them moved. Nothing around them rattled or shook or fell out of place, but Quackity felt like the ground fell out below him. He felt his heart leap into his throat and his stomach turn over and his whole sense of balance shifted –
And then it was fine.
Quackity pressed a hand to his face, and swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He stared at Technoblade, almost fearfully and a hell of a lot confused.
Technoblade shrugged as he righted himself again. “Schlatt moved the house again.” He tapped a foot against the stone floor. “We’re back where we were, sounds like.” He turned back to Quackity and gathered the meat up. “He likes scaring people who get too nosy about us living where we’re at. He probably did the same to your… your ex, I’d say.”
Moved the house? Quackity let his hand fall back down into his lap, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “He wasn’t kidding about the Lord of the House shit, was he?”
“Nope.”
Quackity emerged about an hour later from the cellar and found Schlatt and Wilbur talking in the living room. When he entered, the two demons fell silent, their gazes on him. Quackity waited a beat, then strode into the room and dropped down into a comfy chair across from them. He laced his fingers together, squeezed his hands, and then looked them in the eye.
“I want to be truthful to you, about why I’m here. I was running away from Jay, because he was abusing me. I couldn’t stay with him, but I didn’t have a place to go. Jay cut me off from my family and any remaining friends I still had. It’s been years since I last talked to them, and I don’t know if they would care if I was still alive.”
“What was the plan? To just keep driving until you… got away?” Wilbur asked.
“Pretty much, yeah.” Quackity squeezed his hands together again. This next part was hard, and he struggled to even make the words come out of his mouth. “I understand if I’m too much trouble for you to keep around. I’ll still leave when my car gets finished, and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
Wilbur and Schlatt exchanged a glance, similar to the one they shared from the first night he arrived. Like that night, Quackity didn’t know what to expect from it. He didn’t know what his fate would be based on that look alone. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know the result, or if he wanted to just throw it all away now and bolt for the hills.
Instead, Schlatt stayed him with a simple question: “Why do you think we let you in that first night?”
“Uh…” He didn’t really know, if he was going to be honest. “Because it was raining and you pitied me?”
“Because you smelled so fucking delicious with all your suffering,” Schlatt replied.
“And you’re pretty,” Wilbur added, then, “For me. I needed a snack, okay? It’d been a while.”
Quackity blinked at the blunt answers. It made sense, though, if they were demons. He was only there to be food for them, huh? Well, that…
“But,” Schlatt interrupted his thoughts before they started to spiral. “That reason has changed. We could have let Jay take you back. We could have let Jay in here, and let him do with you whatever he wanted.”
At that, Wilbur slunk back into his seat. Quackity’s gaze switched back to Schlatt, and he saw the way his teeth were set on edge, the growls rumbling in both their throats at the very idea. And he realized… maybe why that reason had changed. It was like when Wilbur said he found him having a nightmare and woke him up. It wasn’t pity they held for him, but something far more possessive. He could feel it rising around them, and he remembered how the house shifted under his feet.
They chased Jay away. They made sure he’d never come back. They protected him, even though he was originally meant to be their prey.
“So, what does that mean for me?” Quackity asked.
“You could stay,” Wilbur replied first. “With us.”
“You don’t have family to go to. You don’t have friends you feel safe with. Say your car gets fixed and you leave. Where will you go? What happens when Jay finds you again?”
Because he would. He found Quackity once and he sure as hell would find him again, if given the chance. Even if the demons scared him off, the moment he left the safety of the property, Jay might still try to drag him back.
“I… I don’t know,” Quackity admitted.
Schlatt pushed to his feet after a few moments of consideration. He crossed the small distance between the couch and Quackity and knelt down in front of him. He took his hand in his own and looked Quackity in the eye. “Stay with us, then. Join us tonight. You’ve spent a long time thinking, I’m sure. You’ve spent a long time trying to save your own hide. Let us handle it, now. Let us take over. Will you trust us to keep you in good hands?”
Quackity stared back, stared down at the hand wrapped around his. He had an idea of what he’d be agreeing to, if he said yes now. After everything that happened today, he felt drained. He didn’t want to think anymore. He didn’t want to worry anymore. He didn’t want to be the one in control anymore, at least just for one night.
“Okay.”
Schlatt pushed to his feet, then beckoned Wilbur over. The two of them helped Quackity up into a standing position, and Schlatt’s hands cupped his face. He pulled him into a soft and careful kiss, but one that soon grew hungry and needy. Quackity pressed into Schlatt’s body, begging him softly against his lips to take him, take him, take him!
Wilbur laughed softly. He wrapped his arms around Quackity’s waist, his mouth wrapping over the mark last left by Jay and he bit down until it was his indents in his flesh. He then sucked a mark over the fading one, claiming him, owning him. Schlatt’s hand traveled down to the brand on the base of his spine and he felt something burning against his skin. He groaned into Schlatt’s chest, tracking the demon’s touch as he overlaid Jay’s last mark on his skin with one of his own. It ached, to be claimed by the two demons, and his nerves finally got the best of him and he fell back into a world of darkness.
When he woke up, he was in Schlatt’s bed, still clothed. Wilbur was there, a glass of wine against his lips, and as naked as the day he was reborn. Schlatt was also naked, his legs spread open in front of Quackity. He stared at the cock sitting between Schlatt’s legs.
For some reason, he didn’t really expect anything other than a normal human dick. At least it wasn’t something weird like a tentacle, though a tentacle might’ve fit better than this monster. Schlatt was thick , and the ridges that lined the sides of his cock only added to the girth. Not only were there ridges, but it looked like his cock had barbs . He swallowed, his nerves coiling in his guts.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Wilbur asked, sliding onto the bed behind him. His arms slid around Quackity’s waist, pulling him back against his bare chest.
“It’s not gonna fit,” he replied as Wilbur worked his pants off.
“We can stop, if you’re really that scared,” Schlatt teased. His hand wrapped around the thick shaft, stroking himself slowly.
Quackity didn’t want to stop, but damn, he was going to need to be sedated to take that fucking thing. His breath hitched as Wilbur’s fingers slipped under his underwear. The long, thin fingers probed at his dick, then parted his folds to dip into his hole.
“Fuck, Quackity,” he groaned, immediately adding a second finger into his hole. “Such a slick fucking slit, look at you. Already prepping yourself to take Schlatt, huh?” He whispered in Quackity’s ear, magic lacing his words as he got to work stretching his cunt open. It worked like an aphrodisiac, like a drug that made him sink into that warm space that let his body relax until it went limp. He groaned and Wilbur nipped at his ear for it.
“Expose him for me, Wilbur,” Schlatt ordered.
Quackity felt the command and Wilbur’s groan dive straight to his cunt. His walls flexed around Wilbur’s fingers, desperately trying to hold them in as he pulled them free. His head lolled back with a moan, falling against Wilbur’s shoulder. He heard the demon’s laugh in his ear and then his fingers were pressing against his lips and pushing into his mouth. He opened immediately, his head hazy with his growing lust as he gave into Wilbur’s urging. Fingers slick with his own arousal forced their way into his mouth, and he licked them clean without even needing to be told to. He didn’t taste himself often, and he didn’t really care for the taste, but it was worth it to hear both Schlatt and Wilbur moan at the sight.
Wilbur’s fingers pulled free with a pop. Quackity tried to chase them, but then he was being jostled and moved so his pants could come off. His shirt went next, his soft protest going listened to, but ultimately ignored. Schlatt wanted to see him bare. He wanted to see all of him, and with Wilbur at his side, Quackity knew for a fact that he’d be showing Schlatt everything .
Quackity was jostled again, and then one of Wilbur’s hands was roughly groping one of his tits. At least, whatever he could gather up in his hand. He groaned, his breath hitching again as Wilbur’s other hand dove straight into his cunt. This time, it was three fingers and they thrusted hard into his hole, the fingertips brushing up against the core of him. It felt so fucking good, and Quackity couldn’t bite down on his moans anymore.
Wilbur’s cock was a hard reminder against his ass of where this was going, and he opened his eyes to see Schlatt’s hand wrapped around the base of his cock. He watched Quackity fall apart on Wilbur’s fingers. Usually, he’d feel some kind of shame at this point, some kind of disgust at his own self for getting off to the filth Jay would spit into his ears. But now, with Wilbur breathing in his arousal, fueling his magic and in turn fueling his own pleasure, he felt nothing but a desperate need to please, to continue, to–
“Fuck, yeah, there you go,” Wilbur panted in his ear, his thumb now rubbing against Quackity’s t-dick and a fourth finger forcing its way into his sopping cunt. “I can taste what you’re thinking, Quackity. You want us to breed you like the bitch in heat you are, don’t you? You wanna feel what it’s like to get fucked full of hot demon cum, huh?”
“Yes!” Quackity writhed, his arousal reaching its peak for the first time in years. He jerked like a fish on a hook as he came, his hands grabbing Wilbur’s arm and holding him tight and right there, right there, right fucking there!
He slumped back against Wilbur’s front, panting. Wilbur’s fingers slowed to a steady pace, fucking him through his orgasm. “Good boy,” he praised. He wrapped one leg around Quackity’s and pulled him open, presenting his soaking cunt to Schlatt. “I don’t think he’ll be ready without a toy.”
“He looks ready enough,” Schlatt replied and reached for Quackity. He got passed over, exchanged hands from Wilbur to Schlatt, and it was honestly the hottest thing to be manhandled like that by two demons. His cunt throbbed when Wilbur’s hand pulled out; he was too fucking empty. His cunt was dripping with his own slick, and he could hear himself begging for something to fill him.
Schlatt’s mouth immediately wrapped around his ear, breathing hot into his skull. “Don’t worry, pet. You’re going to get exactly what a filthy fucking slut like you deserves.” Then he positioned Quackity against his bare chest and lined up his cock with Quackity’s hole. From this angle, Quackity could see just how fucking massive Schlatt was. It wasn’t going to fit. He’d tear him open, ruin him for anyone else. He’d mold his body into the shape of his cock, turn him into a brainless fleshlight to fuck and fill to his heart’s content.
“And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”
Quackity moaned in response. There was pressure at his entrance, the thick head of Schlatt’s cock pressed hard against his slick, but small hole, and pushing in. Even with just the head, it hurt. It really felt like he was getting stretched open, torn open by something that was never made to fit inside him. He moaned. His breath hitched. He panted, and when the head finally popped in, he screamed. Suddenly, a tongue filled his mouth and he sucked hard on it, groaning in pain into Wilbur’s mouth. Wilbur’s hands cupped his face, whispering praises and encouragement as Schlatt continued to impale him on his cock.
Even for how slick he was, it wasn’t enough. Schlatt was too big, too thick for his mortal hole to take. He sobbed as his cunt took the first round of ridges. Schlatt paused, let him adjust, and Wilbur’s hands were fondling his tits or stroking his t-dick to try to ease the way. Quackity shifted on the fat cock burrowing into his guts, only to cry out when one of the barbs caught on his walls. He was stuck on his cock, unable to lift off on his own without pain, and then Schlatt was forcing more of his cock inside of him.
They were talking to him, telling him how much they loved seeing him take cock, seeing his stomach bulge with Schlatt’s shaft. Wilbur stroked the place where his stomach bulged out, and both he and Schlatt shuddered. His hole ached, and he could feel blood dripping out with his slick, but everywhere Wilbur touched him burned like a bonfire on a cold winter night. His body relaxed and the pain dissipated into the background, and he took more and more of Schlatt’s massive cock. He came at some point, based on the guttural growl that rumbled through Schlatt’s chest, and the sharp thrust up into his guts.
Quackity moaned and begged, panting and shuddering and slowly, slowly, slow as the pace Schlatt started when he finally bottomed out inside of him, the pain faded completely and only pleasure stayed. Quackity still wailed with each bounce on the cock impaling him, but it was good! It was good, good, good, good, so fucking good! He begged them to stretch him, fill him, breed him, stuff him until he couldn’t fucking think anymore!
Schlatt twisted them around, with Quackity still stuck on his cock, and Quackity felt the silk sheets against his sweat-slick back and he felt Schlatt fuck into him deeper and then Wilbur’s cock was nudging his lips. He opened his mouth obediently, eagerly, and sucked his cock into his mouth. It felt like heaven to be filled and fucked and used like this. He couldn’t remember a time where he enjoyed being used, but here he was, happy to be nothing but a plaything, a toy for the demons who chased his nightmares away. He swallowed Wilbur’s cock, his gag reflex already trained away, and he bobbed his head eagerly, taking him as deep as he’d go inside him. He wanted to be full! He wanted everything they’d give him, everything they’d do to him, he wanted to leak their seed every single day, every single hour, every single time they wanted to see him bulging with their cocks and their seed.
He lost track of how many times he came. He lost track of the time that passed. He lost track of who he even was, content to just take their cocks and take their seed and take their desires as they fed off of him. He woke up some time later, hours later, his stomach and his womb full of cum, and his hole still twitching as he warmed Schlatt’s cock where it was still buried inside him.
“Morning, pumpkin,” Schlatt crooned at him, thrusting sharply inside of him. Quackity felt cum leak out of his hole, and he couldn’t do much more than giggle at him. “God, I love seeing you broken like this. You were made for us, weren’t you? You were made to take our cocks.” Schlatt kissed his forehead, chuckling softly as he brushed away the hair clinging to his forehead. He felt like a mess, fucked out and somehow still needy. Schlatt’s thumb brushed at his mouth, wiping away some drool that had been dripping out of his mouth.
“Tech was here earlier. I don’t even think you were awake. He wanted your mouth, because he knows I won’t let him use your cunt. Not if I’m here.” Schlatt’s hand cupped Quackity’s cheek, turning his face up towards his. “As long as you’re here in my bed, you will be on my cock. Your cunt is mine, and I will warm myself inside of you, use your body as you were made to be used. And you love that, don’t you?”
Quackity nodded dumbly, turning his face to kiss Schlatt’s thumb. The demon growled happily, possessively, and flipped them so Quackity was on his back, his legs forced up until he was nearly bent in half. Schlatt started fucking into him, fucking his fat fucking cock into Quackity’s too-stretched hole, and he cried, he screamed, he wailed as Schlatt pounded him into yet another orgasm.
Wilbur’s footsteps were usually too quiet to hear, what with him stalking around the castle looking for a bite to eat, but he made himself loud whenever he was around Quackity. It was nice, he had to admit. To have someone think of him and the way he startled easily. He’d thank him if his head wasn’t still rolling around with a mess of thoughts. He leaned against the fence wrapped around the balcony in the living room, staring out at the forest. Mist snaked around the treetops, fog in the early morning that scattered the growing light into specks of rainbows.
Wilbur stopped next to him, the smooth and unmarred surface of his demonic form bared to the world. Quackity was still wrapping his head around that little detail. That the men who had welcomed him into his home were a trio of demons. He didn’t know why they were here, of all places. Frankly, he didn’t really care either. But they were here, and they had welcomed him into their home, and they chased Jay off. Scared him shitless with whatever the fuck kind of powers Schlatt hid under that silk smooth sneer. Quackity’s eyes flicked over to Wilbur as they stood in silence.
His wings sat folded against his back, the skin there bearing the only scar tissue he’d ever seen on him. Not that he’d seen all of Wilbur, and definitely not for lack of trying or interest. He could still feel the twitching membranes under his fingertips, and he remembered the way Wilbur’s face broke out into a broken moan. Quackity wanted to touch them again; he wanted to see Wilbur broken and ruined and needy and begging–
“Eager this morning, are we, Big Q?” Wilbur crooned, his voice a teasing lilt as he turned his attention onto him.
“Fuck off, you creep,” Quackity retorted, though his voice no longer held the same kind of heat as it did before. He turned his gaze back to the trees, pointedly trying not to think about the flush on his cheeks or the heat twisting in his groin. Not that Wilbur couldn’t already tell, the bastard.
Even so, Wilbur laughed and pushed off the fence surrounding the balcony, his smile wide and bright where it cut across his mouth. His fangs flashed in the daybreak and Quackity found his attention drawn to them. His gaze followed Wilbur back into the room. He disappeared from his sight when he turned a corner, and Quackity took a step to keep following him. But then he jerked to a stop, the motion aborted as he came back to himself.
“Fucking prick,” he hissed under his breath and leaned back up against the fence. Quackity liked having some time to rest his cunt from getting fucked constantly. Unfortunately, he knew Wilbur was addicted to the way his arousal tasted. He was the perfect treat for an incubus, Wilbur told him once. Quackity would’ve told him to fuck off, but his mouth was a little pre-occupied with slurping down as much of Wilbur’s dick as he could fit in his throat.
Quackity tilted his face back so he could feel the sun on his face. It was still cresting over the forest canopy, but he could feel it warming his back, warming the ache under his flesh where old bruises were finally given the chance to heal. He kept his ears perked for Wilbur, listening as he shuffled around in the room, grabbing shit that Quackity assumed was some kind of sex toy or something. He didn’t see Wilbur very often first thing in the morning, so he didn’t really know if he should expect the demon coming onto him for a quick breakfast, or what.
Soon enough, Wilbur stepped back into view and–
Quackity blinked. His head tilted to the side as he processed the items in Wilbur’s hands. There was a mat rolled up in his arms, along with a basket of… something… Blocks? Pillows? Quackity leaned forward to try to get a better look at it. Wilbur set down the basket and then promptly unraveled the mat. He laid it across the floor, right in the center of the wide door frame that led out to the balcony. He smoothed it out with a hand, then reached over to the basket. He started taking out and organizing the smooth blocks so they sat within arm’s reach of the mat. Once he was done, he lifted his head up to meet Quackity’s gaze.
“You look like you’ve never seen a yoga mat before,” he commented, the teasing lilt to his voice ever present.
“... you do yoga?” Quackity asked, taking a moment to step forward. He grabbed one of the blocks and brought it close to inspect it. The block was made of firm foam, soft and smooth to the touch, but didn’t bend or squish when he tried to squeeze it.
Wilbur shrugged, shifting position until he sat cross-legged on the floor. “Are you surprised?”
“Well, yeah.” Quackity sat down too, mirroring the pose. “You’re a demon. It feels a bit… contradictory that you’d be doing yoga? I mean, you can literally change how you look. Why would you waste time on yoga?”
Wilbur fixed him with an interested stare, then pushed up to his feet. Quackity didn’t follow him up, opting instead to lift his head to keep eye contact. “Well,” Wilbur started, before bending backwards until his hands touched the floor behind him, his back arching up into a perfect bridge. Quackity’s eyes narrowed in on the stretch of his stomach, the skin exposed as his shirt rode up. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he couldn’t drag his attention away as Wilbur rolled back up into a standing position.
“Flexibility is a skill that needs to be maintained, for one,” he explained, his hand resting on his cocked hip. “While you are correct that I can change my form however I want, it does take energy to maintain it. Why would I waste my energy on something I can perfect simply through daily practice?”
Quackity had to admit that made sense. But… yoga? Really? The few times he actually went to a therapist about his… issues, they recommended he try yoga. Yoga, instead of medicating him or actually doing anything that would actually fix him. He told them to fuck off and left their office and never went back.
“Do you want to join me?” Wilbur asked, breaking into his thoughts and dragging his attention back to the present, back to him.
“Hell no,” Quackity replied. He stood up now, his mouth twisting into the comfortable and familiar frown. “I’ve got better things to do than praise the sun, or whatever the fuck you do.”
Wilbur fixed him with another one of those interested stares, but shrugged and left it at that. He closed his eyes, his hands pressed together in front of his chest as he breathed in and out. As much as Quackity liked the thought of Wilbur at his back while he stared at the rising sun, he could feel his stomach starting to twist with hunger. He stuck his hands into his pockets and stalked out of the room, hunting down something to eat.
Quackity found that Wilbur started every morning with yoga. Even though he clearly expressed his distaste for it, Wilbur started coming to his room to practice his yoga. After the fifth time, Wilbur explained why.
“This used to be my room,” he said one day as he sat cross-legged on the mat. He had just set out the mat, and Quackity was sitting nearby, watching him like he almost always did nowadays. Wilbur leaned back on his hands, returning the stare. “Before you showed up, I’d do yoga in here every day, ‘greeting the sun’, as you put it.” He grinned at Quackity.
Quackity didn't grin back. “Why'd you stop?”
“You tried to slit my throat the first night you were here. You pushed me out of the bed. I'm not gonna risk my pretty looks by setting up shop in your space again. At least, not until I'm sure you're not gonna freak out again.” Wilbur gave him a wink, which sent Quackity’s own gaze darting to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wilbur tilt his head, before shifting his weight to lift up one of his arms. He reached out to Quackity, then curled his finger towards him, beckoning him closer. With a voice like silken strings wrapping around his limbs, he said, “Why do you try it out? Just this once?”
Quackity couldn’t break the spider’s silk around his limbs, and he stumbled towards Wilbur until the strings released. He dropped to his knees next to him, and quickly shook his head. “Creep,” he snarled, but he didn’t move to stand.
“What do you have against some stretching and breathing, you prick?” Wilbur asked, the teasing lilt to his voice dropping lower, more serious.
“It won’t fix me,” Quackity hissed, all his vitriol towards his doctors and therapists spat into Wilbur’s face.
Wilbur stared at him, his eyes widening as the words processed. And then a light went off in Wilbur’s head. Quackity saw it the second it happened. He looked down at the mat, his eyes darting back and forth as he put the pieces together in his head. He was quiet for a moment, and then sat back on his haunches. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, still working his thoughts around.
Finally, he said in a soft voice, “You’re right.”
“... what?”
“You’re right. It won’t fix you. It won’t fix whatever problems you have in your brain. It won’t fix the pain in your sides, the pain in your joints, or the pain in your heart. But the thing is, it’s not supposed to.”
“My therapist sure thought it would,” Quackity commented, shifting so that he sat cross-legged.
“You have pretty consistent panic attacks when your anxiety spikes.”
“And?” Quackity paused, then added. “Lots of people are anxious. It’s normal.”
“It’s not.” A beat, and then, “Wait, you actually think that everyone goes around with enough anxiety to trigger a panic attack at the smallest spike?”
“... They don’t?”
“Wow, okay.” Wilbur spun around to face him, then grabbed his hands. Quackity let him, still working through the possibility that not everyone had that much anxiety. “Okay, let's try something. Okay?”
Quackity stared at him, wary, but willing to go along with whatever he had in mind. Wilbur was a clingy creep at the best of times, but he hadn’t assaulted him since he stepped into their home. He… he trusted him, at least within arm’s reach. He nodded after a moment of silence, turning his hands over so he could squeeze Wilbur’s.
“Okay. Look at me? Now do what I do. Breathe in through your nose,” he paused to breathe in deeply. Quackity tried to follow suit. “Now out through your mouth,” he said, then exhaled. Quackity breathed out until it felt like he had no more air in his lungs. “Good. Again.” He breathed in and Quackity followed, breathing in until he couldn’t breathe in anymore. Wilbur breathed out, and Quackity did too. They repeated this a few more times until Quackity had the rhythm down. Breathe in, one, two, three, four. Breathe out, one, two, three, four, five. Breathe in through the nose. Breathe out through the mouth.
As he breathed, Wilbur started talking again.
“As you breathe in, focus on the floor beneath you. Feel how sturdy it is; keep breathing in and out. Feel how sturdy it is beneath you. Focus on my hands on yours. Feel the weight of them on your palms. When you breathe out, focus on your weight against the floor. Feel how the floor holds you up. Breathe in, and imagine taking my power out of me. Pull on my strings, pull on me and pull it into yourself and into your lungs. Breathe out, and push that power back into the ground. Remember the sturdy ground beneath you. Remember the way it holds you up. Do you feel it?”
Quackity thought what Wilbur was saying was dumb, but he trusted him in that moment. He trusted and so he played along. And after a while, he realized he could feel it. Wilbur guided him into a standing position, instructed him to feel the ground beneath his feet, feel the way his foot planted down on it, how it held up his weight, kept him sturdy and stable like a tree trunk. He breathed out and imagined his breath traveling through his leg and into the floor below. He breathed in and drew the power up from the house. He breathed out and pushed it back down into its foundation.
As he breathed in, Wilbur guided him to stretch backwards. He wasn’t flexible. Not like Wilbur, but he didn’t force him to stretch past his limits. He breathed out as he returned to the standing position. They repeated this a few more times, and then Wilbur brought him back down to the floor, sitting cross-legged with him, their hands entwined in each other again.
“Now,” he said, squeezing his hands back. “How do you feel?”
Quackity breathed in through his nose and came back to himself. He felt… calmer. More aware. He felt raw, mostly in his throat. He felt… good. He felt stable, for once. He opened his mouth to answer, but Wilbur touched his cheek and smiled. Right. Fucking incubus powers knowing how someone was feeling without them ever even saying it.
“Good. Congrats. You’ve done a yoga.” At Quackity’s confused expression, Wilbur explained. “All yoga really is, is a breathing exercise. It’s a grounding exercise. It’s exercise for sure, and it will help with your flexibility, but it also helps with back pain. Joint pain. And anxiety. It’s mindfulness that keeps you grounded by focusing on how your body feels, how your muscles feel. It won’t fix you, but that’s not what it’s supposed to do. It’s supposed to help ground you, bring you out of whatever headspace you’re stuck in. Even if all you do is focus on how your lungs feel as you breathe in and out, or just the very act of trying to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. If that’s all you can do at that time, then that’s all you need to do.”
Quackity sat back with that, sat back and processed that. It was easy. Simple. Once he got the hang of breathing in and out, he could just… keep doing that. It pissed him off how easy it was, how much it really did help. It wouldn’t fix him, per se, but… “So you do this… every morning?”
“Every morning. It makes for a nice morning routine. Plus the sun is nice to see at least once a day.”
“Ha, yeah, you’re telling me.”
“So, will you join me?”
Quackity pressed his mouth into a line, then nodded. Maybe he’d try it this time around, if he was doing it with Wilbur.
Quackity didn’t remember what triggered him. He couldn’t remember why his anger took a hold of him by the jaw and made him scream and shout at Wilbur. He couldn’t remember why, and he didn’t stick around long enough to figure out why. As quickly as the screaming started, Quackity bolted. He heard Wilbur take a few steps after him, but then just let him run away. Quackity ran through the halls, ran all the way back to his room and slammed the door behind him. He immediately went to the other side of the room, where the balcony looked out over the courtyard, looked out over Techno’s sparring ring, and he dropped into the chair that sat out there. He wrapped his arms up around his body, shaking but trying to breathe through it until he calmed down.
After some time passed, Quackity heard someone enter his room. He didn’t try to look to see who it was. If it was Wilbur, he didn’t know how he’d explain himself. But then a tall, dark shadow fell over him. He looked up from where he held his legs close to his chest, and came face to face with Techno.
Quackity tilted his head back, far enough that the skin of his throat pulled taut. He felt Techno’s heated gaze linger on the exposed flesh, but it soon shifted towards the forest that stretched out beneath them. He stopped next to the chair Quackity dragged out of his room so he had a place to sit. He eyed the demon, his eyebrow quirked up as he waited for him to speak.
“Wilbur told me what happened,” he drawled. If he was aware of the way that made him flinch, he didn’t do anything about it.
“... yeah?” Quackity replied, if only because the other man had fallen silent again. He resisted the urge to pull his legs up close to him and wrap his arms around them. He resisted the urge to make himself a smaller target, to make himself invisible to the others around him. He was getting better, damn it! He…
He shifted on the chair and felt Techno’s eyes drifted over to him as he crossed his legs underneath him. He raised his hands up, squeezing his hands into a fist and then relaxing them. It was supposed to help when he was angry. It was supposed to give him some release. He went to anger management classes when Jay’s outbursts first started. The outbursts pissed him off, and they’d end up in screaming matches at each other. Eventually, Jay couldn’t stand to be wrong. That was the first time Quackity looked down the barrel of a gun pointed at his face and felt his will tremble and collapse.
“Yeah,” Techno's drawl broke through his thoughts and dragged his attention back to the present. “And I did a little thinkin’ about it, and I might have an idea you’ll like.”
Quackity turned and followed him with his eyes as Techno turned and left the balcony. He watched him pause after a few steps and glance over his shoulder. He gestured with his head as if to say “follow me”. Quackity stared after him for a few moments before sliding out of the chair and jogging after him. The demon had long strides and Quackity had to hurry to keep pace with him. He followed him out to the courtyard, out to where he’d seen Techno spar with Schlatt a few times.
In the courtyard, Technoblade unclipped the heavy red cloak he wore around his shoulders and hung it on a hook near some wooden swords. Next came the boar skull he wore as a mask when he left the castle, and Quackity was quickly reminded by how handsome even Technoblade was. A gruff face lined in a thick, coarse beard. His tusks poked out from the corners of his mouth, his lips parting as he grinned across the ring at him. He wrapped white tape around his knuckles, then tossed the roll at Quackity.
Quackity lurched forward to catch the tape, stumbling across the sand and nearly falling flat on his face for his efforts. He eyed the tape, then tried to replicate Techno’s method. The demon watched for nearly a minute before crossing the ring in a few strides.
“Hands,” he ordered as he plucked the tape out of Quackity’s hands. He waited until Quackity offered his hands to him. Then he started taping them for him, explaining the method as he went. “This is so you don’t break your knuckles on me.” He nodded to himself, satisfied with his work, then returned the tape to the table next to his cloak.
“... on you?” Quackity asked as he flexed his fingers. It was hard to move them, but his fists felt supported when he clenched them. Did he mean to…?
“Yup,” Techno replied, tugging off his shirt to reveal the rippling mass of muscle and fat that adorned his body like some demonic Adonis. Quackity licked his lips, blaming the dryness on the sun drifting above them. His strides took him just inside the ring, his own hands flexing around the tape. He fixed Quackity with a blank stare before settling into a steady stance, his legs shoulder-width apart and his hands behind his back. All that meat and fat on display, and Quackity stared back in confusion. At least, until Techno spoke again.
“Hit me.”
Quackity blinked. “What?”
“Hit. Me. However you like. I’m sure I can take whatever you can dish out.”
“Just… just hit you? I thought you wanted to spar.”
“We can, if you’d rather. Though I feel like it’s going to be counterproductive if I lay you out cold right off the bat.”
“Hey!” Quackity snapped, jabbing a finger at the demon. “I’m not a wimp! I can take a punch!”
Techno fixed him with a steady gaze and Quackity felt his shoulders raise, suddenly terrified of Techno taking him up on that offer. But something in Quackity’s face must have settled him, because all he said in return was, “Show me what you can do, Quackity.”
Quackity licked his lips, focusing on Techno’s chest, on his stomach. He knew just under that soft-looking pudge were muscles as hard as stone. He’d probably break his fist on it, no matter how well his knuckles were wrapped. But Techno was obviously content to stand there until Quackity made his move. So, he shook his head, shook his body, and tried to replicate what he thought a fighting stance was. And then he slung a fist right to the demon’s gut.
His fist connected, the shock ricocheting up the length of his arm. God, that felt like punching into a sand bag. Still fucking hurt, though. He shook the feeling out of his hand, and let his gaze flick back up to Techno.
His face was still blank and expressionless as ever, and Quackity felt a flash of rage at the lack of any reaction. His fist slammed right back into Techno’s gut, and then the other one, and then again and again and again. He felt Techno’s stomach muscles flex under his pummeling, felt the force of his anger and rage force Techno to twitch back a few times, and slowly, his mouth curled up into a smile. Quackity wanted to punch it off his face. He tried, but by the time his fist connected with some kind of flesh, it was the palm of Techno’s hand. He held Quackity’s fist, blocking him easily from trying to knock that grin off his face.
“Good. You’ve got power behind your fists. Your stance, though, could use some work.” Techno released his hand and Quackity took a step back. The demon continued, moving his body into position as he talked. “You’re not stable on your feet. If I tried to push you, you’d fall right over. Yes, even when I’m playing at being human. Here, do what I do.”
Techno beckoned him to stand next to him and mimic his stance. He fixed Quackity’s stance as he held still, then had him straighten to what he called parade rest. Then back into position one. As the day passed, Techno showed him how to throw a punch, how to keep his power consistent, even when he wasn’t enraged. Once Quackity had that down, he showed him how to take a punch. How to lessen the impact, to lessen the force behind it. How to use the inertia to his advantage and how to keep himself from getting injured.
He even showed him how to knee someone in the balls, or where in the throat to hit someone, or where people had soft spots and less meaty places. Over the course of the following days, he explained anatomy to him in the library, and how to strengthen his joints so if he was pushed over, he wouldn’t fuck up his ankle or fuck up his knees. The yoga helped too, and Quackity found between Techno and Wilbur, he was growing stronger. He could climb the stairs and not feel winded. He could run and dart around the courtyard and evade Techno when he tried chasing him.
The chasing helped, he found. Run and hide from the predator. Run and hide as prey. Evade and wait. Defend and crack your fist into a nose. Slip free from their grasp. Twist and push into them when they grab your hair. Spin. Drop. Roll. Run. He’d run out of energy eventually. He was still prey, but even prey could gouge and gore and defend from the lion jumping on their hide. Prey had nothing but their lives to lose. Disable a predator and they’d lose far more than just their lunch.
Technoblade was a different kind of predator, and Quackity couldn’t run from him forever. But he learned how to be okay when he got caught too. Techno didn’t hunt him for his flesh and his hide. He hunted him to teach him, to train him, and then to fill his empty and throbbing holes when he finally pinned him down in the dirt and the forest leaves. Quackity loved it, loved the feral way Technoblade fucked him like this. He barely said a word, only growled and snarled and praised him for lasting longer than before. And once the two of them had their fill of each other, Technoblade would carry him back and leave him in Wilbur’s care to wash him clean of the dirt and the sweat, and replace Techno’s cum with his own.
The change happened slowly, at least as far as Quackity was concerned. He felt happier. He felt freer. He felt alive in more ways than he had in a very long time. He didn’t spend every waking moment wondering if a bullet was going through his skull the next time his bedroom door opened. He didn’t spend his morning digging the cum out of him, or surveying the new smattering of bruises that painted the clouded sky across his flesh. His voice no longer grew hoarse from the newest batch of screaming matches, or from begging for mercies he long stopped believing he deserved.
Instead, he woke up every morning to Schlatt curled around him, his hands buried in his hair and his mouth still whispering sweet nothings in his ear. The cum buried in his cunt wasn’t a disease he needed to claw out, but a welcome visitor, right where he wanted it. When the light began to peek through the slits in the curtains, he’d slip out of Schlatt’s arms. There might be a touch of resistance, but he’d soon release him to go move about unhindered. Quackity would join Wilbur on the balcony, and greet him with an arm around his lean waist, only to be pulled in close, their lips barely a hair away. He’d lean in and taste Wilbur’s tongue as it explored his mouth, lapping up the lingering arousal left in his saliva.
When they finally parted, both panting with desire, they would gather up their mats and blocks and lay them before the wide doorway to the balcony. With his feet planted on the floor, his breaths deep and fixing him to the earth where he belonged, he’d feel the peace settle around his shoulders like hands coaxing him down into their beds. He’d end up on top of Wilbur, pinning him to the floor as he rode each breathless thrust of his hips. His body writhed beneath Quackity, his moans like the sweetest birdsong he’d ever heard, and they’d chase after their release together until they climaxed over the peak.
And with Wilbur’s cock still twitching and spurting his seed into Quackity, there’d be a hand on his shoulder, guiding him up and away. He’d steal a kiss or three from Techno, and he’d bite down on his flesh until Quackity screamed. He’d repay him back with a punch to his chest, a swing towards his throat, a knee straight to the crotch if he felt like fighting dirty. And then they’d fall into the dirt below, all teeth and snarls and lashing tails until Techno pinned him in the dirt and called him a whore and meat and a worm that writhed in the late afternoon sun. And Quackity would sing his praises until his voice went hoarse and his body bore the evidence of Techno’s desire and his care.
And when they returned to the mansion, Wilbur would drag him into the washroom and clean him until his skin felt scrubbed anew. He’d fall to his knees, his mouth buried in Quackity’s cunt before he could even beg for it, and he’d grind on Wilbur’s face until he was moaning and whining and standing on shaky legs that threatened to crumple beneath him.
He’d sit next to Schlatt, the Lord of the House, at dinner, and he’d grin and tease and eat his fill (and then some). And his body would be warm and dry and buzzing with energy that would only be satisfied by writhing in a pile of his lovers, filled and filled and filled until his body would drop onto the sheets, his mouth parted as he panted and whispered sweet nothings to the men around him. His tail would curl around Schlatt’s wrist and drag himself on top of him. The slits in his eyes would dilate in the setting sun, his eyelids growing heavy, and then he’d fall asleep to the steady sound of the beating heart of his new world.